


His Wolf

by Thishouseisaflyingcircus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Back to work, Blood, Cages, Clubbing, Death, Gore, Halloween, Hallucinations, Hospitals, Hunters, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Kidnapping, M/M, Shock, Soulmates, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Thanks to TP for suggesting I write a quickie in a random fandom, Torture, Trauma, Werewolves not known, and for the TW primer and answering my many questions about it, and helping with these tags, bad drugs, dick worship, hook-ups, just in time, lol, lol again, organ harvesting, this was fun, wow this looks so heavy dark and gruesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-16 06:18:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thishouseisaflyingcircus/pseuds/Thishouseisaflyingcircus
Summary: Stiles was just about to call it a night and leave the club when he ran, quite literally, into an attractive stranger.They connected immediately and Stiles felt a weird, unexplainable attraction towards the man, a strong, mysterious pull he couldn't resist, even if he had wanted to.Weeks later, Stiles would show up at the hospital nearly unrecognizable, severely injured, and suffering from traumatic delusions.





	His Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt asked for kidnapping, trauma, and Stiles freaking out because Derek isn't by his side when he wakes up.  
> I know next to nothing about werewolves, soulmates, and medical stuff, so please squint a little in regards to that.  
> In this world, humans are oblivious to the world of werewolves and those who hunt them, and werewolves are the only ones aware of the existence of soulmates, the human will feel the strong attraction, but won't fully understand it until the connection is explained to them.

~~~~~~

 

Stiles broke the surface of consciousness hard and fast, with no time for slow thoughts and lazy movements, so hard and fast it hurt.

He cried out as he lurched forward, tightly clutching his belly to try and stop the searing stabs of pain shooting deep through his abdomen. His eyes darted quickly around, blinking rapidly for more moisture as he tried to place himself, to understand where he was while fighting through the thick fog floating in his brain.

A sudden, nagging sense of urgency pushed at him, making his breath quicken sharply, the pace and sound of both it and his heartbeat alarmingly loud and heavy.

His memory remained hazy, but he was starting to panic from one thought that was very clear — he had to get out, _now_.

The voice in his head was screaming that he had to get out.

_Had to get out._

_Had to get back to him._

 

Stiles' hand flicked off the monitor clamped over his finger while the other quickly ripped away the breathing tube that sat at his nose. The IV injected into the soft, pale skin at the crook of his elbow soon followed the same fate.

_Had to get out._

Stiles clumsily maneuvered to get off the bed, trying to ignore the uncomfortable pull of the wires that were still attached to various areas of his chest, some popping off while others stubbornly stayed attached. He soon lost patience and quickly ripped away the remaining ones causing an alarm to start buzzing on one of the machines.

_Had to get out._

When his bare feet hit the cold floor, he cried out and hunched over from the sharp pain slicing into his side. The unexpected surge of agony caused him to stumble briefly, but he managed to pull himself to standing with the aid of the hospital bed.

_Had to get out._

_Had to get back to him._

 

 _"Stiles! Jesus Christ!"_ John Stilinski entered the hospital room and rushed to his son's side, preventing any further progress in his attempt to leave.

"Where is he? What have you done to him?" The boy pushed away roughly, demanding in a half shriek, half sob, his eyes blank, no recognition of his father standing directly in front of him.

"What? _Who?_ Son, it's okay, you're okay now. You're safe. You're with me now. In the hospital." The sheriff guided Stiles firmly onto the bed, trying to coax him into lying back down.

" _No!_ Let me go! Where is he? Don't touch me!" Stiles struggled mightily against his father's strong grip, his words getting more and more frantic and high-pitched.

The sheriff turned his head and shouted at the door, keeping his son pinned down. "Stiles, you need to relax, you're okay now... _Nurse!_ I need help in here!"

"Let me go!" Stiles surged forward one more time in an attempt to escape, but was too weak and soon quit struggling and curled into a ball instead, hugging himself, sobbing and rocking his body for comfort.

"Stiles! It's me... your dad... you're okay now, son, no one is going to hurt you anymore, you're safe, but I need you to calm down. You're going to hurt yourself." His father rested a comforting hand on the boy, but Stiles flinched and tried to violently shrug it off, crying out at the sharp pains the erratic movement produced.

Stiles curled up even tighter, trembling.

"I need him... where is he? What did you do to him?" His rocking was speeding up, with an urgency to it, his words climbing higher and higher and more desperate, more crazed.

"Who, Stiles? Who do you need?"

_"My wolf!"_

 

John straightened up, his hand slowly trailing off his son, and he took a step back, confused and helpless, tears flooding his eyes while the room filled with nurses guiding him away as they quickly started tending to Stiles, who was now completely unrecognizable, an animal kicking and screaming wildly as they tried to touch him.

What had happened to him?

What had happened to the the boy he lost weeks ago?

The son he had frantically searched and searched for, had precincts all over the country looking for?

What happened to the insanely smart, outgoing young man who would drop everything to help someone in need, even strangers, and who was quick with a self-deprecating quip to make others feel better, whose genuine smile and infectious laugh brightened even the toughest of rooms?

What happened to the kid who was open and honest to a fault, and whose loyalty was beyond reproach?

Who was this person in this hospital bed, cowering and delusional, uncontrollable, fighting and angry like a wild beast caught in a trap?

Where did his son go?

What had happened to him?

John choked out a sob as he watched the struggle before him.

This wasn't his son.

This wasn't Stiles.

 

Stiles folded into himself at the top of the bed, his long legs bent up and chin tucked into trembling knees, thrashing out and fighting while continuing to scream, treating the staff as though they were the enemy.

Three large orderlies rushed into the room and began pulling Stiles' arms and legs straight under a steady barrage of his furious fists, two forcefully pinning him to the bed while the other strapped him tightly down, causing the young man to scream even more, tears running down his cheeks, spittle flying from his enraged mouth as he threatened them and fought even harder, kicking his legs while his body writhed.

"No! Don't you fucking touch me! My wolf! What did you do to him?"

A nurse finally jabbed a needle into Stiles' neck and he shrieked, angrily fighting back until the drug took over his mind, loosening both his muscles and speech.

"My wolf... _need_... my wolf..." Stiles' one free hand shot out across the bed into the empty air, his fingers desperately reaching, searching, before he cried out a sob and his world went black.

 

~~~~~~

 

Stiles was just about to call it a night.

He had a good buzz on, the music had been pulsing and all the pretty visitors came and waved their arms, their bodies moving in hypnotic tandem to a mad rhythm. He had danced with some handsome girls and beautiful guys, but none that were even remotely promising, none that he felt very strongly about.

He sighed.

He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been excited about a hook-up.

Oh well.

It had been fun, just not the endgame kind of fun he had hoped for, the kind he had always hoped and searched for.

He had a paper to write in the morning anyway, so he might as well call it a night, get some good sleep, and use the rest of his weekend wisely.

 

He was just leaving the bathroom, smirking at the grunting sounds coming from the corner stall, apparently occupied by two guys who liked extremely dirty talk, when he ran into, well, _him_.

Stiles stumbled back, his hands flailing wildly while he tried to catch his breath, which suddenly seemed suspended between an inhale and an exhale. Either way, in or out, his lungs were struggling for a complete hale in order for his body to resume functioning properly.

" _Whoa!_ Didn't see you there, buddy..."

Stiles hadn't had that much to drink, so he wasn't drunk, _he knew that_ , but he suddenly felt lightheaded and a strange, incongruous mixture throbbed through his body, leaving him a little unbalanced but still steady, fuzzy but clear, and weak but strong.

This guy was definitely solid, a veritable Hoover Dam of muscle, and the collision felt like what Stiles imagined hitting a rock wall at high speed would feel like, wait, details were needed here, a _leather-clad_ rock wall.

Scratch that, a _sinfully attractive_ , leather-clad rock wall.

With impressively expressive eyebrows.

And unfairly gorgeous eyes.

Fuck that paper, fuck sleep, and fuck spending his weekend wisely.

Stiles' night had just taken an interesting and unexpected turn, for the better.

 

The guy's very capable hands clutched Stiles' awkwardly waving arms and pinned them gently to his sides to stop their erratic movement and to keep him from falling or stumbling any further.

His voice was rich and sure, but also seemed shaky, and maybe even a bit breathless. "Oh God... I, _uh_ , I'm so sorry... _I_... I didn't see you coming... _I wasn't_... oh God! I honestly wasn't expecting you. Are you okay?"

There was a thunder inside Stiles' heart, pushing a wonderful pleasure swirling through his veins.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Sorry about that. It was... it was actually my fault, guess I was a little distracted by the free audio porn in the bathroom." 

Stiles laughed nervously while his hands rubbed shamelessly up and down the guy's torso, feeling him up nice and good. He suddenly realized what he was doing and stopped mid-grope, his hands resting on the guy's chest, curious fingers still trying to squeeze out a furtive, little feel.

" _Shit, dude!_ You _do_ know that you're built like a fucking brick house, don't you? Because you are. You really are. Are you made of stone or something? Because you've already got me rock hard..."

 

Okay, Stiles might have consumed a little more alcohol than he'd originally thought, maybe he'd lost count of the fantastical fruity drinks with tiny plastic swords and delicate paper umbrellas, _whatever_ , his mind was now playing tricks on him and having him do and say things he normally wouldn't.

There was a strange and unexplainable attraction he felt towards this guy that was pushing and pulling at the same time, compelling Stiles to stay near. At that moment, all Stiles wanted was to curl up next to this man and feel his heat and steal his warmth.

And never leave his side.

The guy's eyebrows raised and a promising smile tugged at his lips. " _Really?_ That's the line you're going with? Has it ever actually worked?"

"I don't know... buy me a drink, sing me a song, and... I'll keep you posted..." Stiles chuckled, shrugging, pushing even closer into the sinfully attractive, leather-clad rock wall with impressively expressive eyebrows and unfairly gorgeous eyes.

The guy rolled his unfairly gorgeous eyes and grinned, his hand reaching down and his fingers threading tightly into Stiles' before pulling him out of the club's darkened hallway, towards the bar.

 

~~~~~~

 

"What's wrong with my son?" The sheriff met the doctor as he closed the door to Stiles' room, following yet another evaluation of the boy.

The doctor shook his head and let out a breath, his frustration evident.

"Let's sit down, John, and talk." The doctor motioned to the empty sitting area where they settled. "Stiles has a drug running through his system that we're having difficulty identifying. He seems to still be living through the ordeal, or hallucinating... we just aren't sure yet."

"The wolf he keeps crying out for?" John rubbed his face, exasperated.

The doctor nodded. "Obviously a hallucination. It looks like Stiles had very little to eat these past few weeks, he's terribly weak and malnourished, and prone to extreme visions. As you know, he was covered in blood when he was found. We ran tests and some of it identifies as Stiles', but there's also blood from at least three other sources. We're assuming it's blood from his abductors and that Stiles was able to fight them off and escape before making his way here."

The sheriff nodded, having already surmised that.

"And you're already aware of the condition he was in, the bruising, cuts, and scrapes, they all appear to be from constant struggling."

"And his side?" The sheriff pushed on, he'd already assumed all the information the doctor was delivering, he was more concerned with Stiles' more serious injury.

 

The doctor took a deep breath. "Those wounds look different, John, they weren't from struggling and it wasn't an accident, it looks like they were deliberate, and done by a professional."

"What? What the hell does that mean? Deliberate? Professional? Are you saying some sick fuck was cutting into my son? On purpose?"

The doctor nodded.

"There's been talk among the medical community, rumors really, of organ thieves who are targeting young, healthy people and harvesting their organs to sell on the black market."

John shifted in his seat, stunned. He was familiar with the stories, with the attempts to explain the rash of young bodies that were recently being found, mutilated.

He just didn't want to believe that it had almost happened to Stiles.

"It appears they were deliberately cutting into his body, the utensil used was medical grade, probably a scalpel, the cut is smooth and clean, like they were making an incision and..."

The man hesitated a moment, possibly to soften the blow.

"...Stiles had extreme bruising across his chest and on his wrists, thighs, and ankles, possibly from struggling after being tied down. It looks like they may have made the cuts while... while he was conscious. I'm sorry, John."

The sheriff stood abruptly, gritting his teeth and swallowing down the nauseous lump of bile forming in his throat. _"Jesus Christ!"_

 

~~~~~~

 

"You smell so fuckin' good, Stiles... everyone told me you would, but I never, never believed it could be _this_ good." Derek growled into the boy's neck as he pushed him against the alley wall.

"Thanks, I take my hygiene very seriously... next level cleanliness." Stiles panted out, his hands trying to touch every perfect inch of Derek's body all at once.

"How did I get so lucky... and finally find you?" Derek muttered as his lips traveled up and down Stiles' neck, peppering it with hungry, wet kisses and small, playful bites.

Stiles chuckled, naturally lifting and tilting his jaw to give Derek more room to work his mouth magic. Derek moaned at the gesture and Stiles felt Derek's entire body shudder into his, a sound and sensation Stiles instantly decided he loved, with all his heart.

"I don't know? Honest living maybe? Just don't ever let me go now that you've found me, okay? I think my body will shut down, will actually whither up and blow away if I can't spend a lot of time, and I mean eons, exploring every impressive inch of you." Stiles palmed Derek's fattened cock through his jeans for emphasis, eliciting another shuddering moan from the larger man.

 

Derek pulled back.

"We really need to talk, about _all_ of this, you're kind of stuck with me now, whether you like it or not." He waited for a reaction, but the younger man was too focused on Derek's crotch and the wonderful ways he could rub into it not only with his hands and thighs, but also his own cock as well.

" _Oh_ , I like, I like just fine." Stiles couldn't explain it, but he had to have this guy, right now, had to have all of him. His body was on fire and begging for it, _right now_ , even if it meant a quickie in the alley, sue him and call him a slut, nothing mattered anymore except being as close as possible to Derek. 

And sure, Stiles was a little dizzy and somewhat out of sorts, but he was totally on board with this, all of it, his body had never felt so alive, every nerve was pinging fast and hot, wanting release, his senses fully heightened to unprecedented levels.

He wanted Derek like he'd never wanted anyone or anything ever before.

"Wait, Stiles, wait, we need to stop. I want to do this right. I want to show you what you mean to me... properly. There's so much I need to tell you. Let's go back to my loft." Derek murmured into Stiles' neck before his tongue licked a strip to the back of his ear, his hand glancing a promise over the front of Stiles' pants.

" _Oh, Holy_ _Mother of God!_ Yes, Derek... yes! Let's go back to your loft, to _all_ the lofts, to the loftiest of lofts." Stiles gasped out, giving Derek's cock one last, loving squeeze.

Derek grabbed Stiles' hand and led him to his car, stopping occasionally so they could kiss and grope each other some more, grinning and laughing as their eager hands and mouths hungrily roamed their bodies.

 

~~~~~~

 

Stiles' eyes shot open in the darkened and quiet room, the only sound was a monitor softly beeping.

His first instinct was to jump up and rip the tubes from his nose and arm again, but this time he couldn't move. He started struggling and when it was clear that he couldn't escape the straps that held him down, he whined, wanting to curl into a fetal ball, but he couldn't even do that.

He felt helpless, laid out and exposed and vulnerable, _again_ , and he started sobbing.

They were going to come back. Those men were going to come back and they were going to hurt him, _again_ , like they had hurt his wolf.

Stiles started whimpering and crying louder.

_His wolf._

 

The sheriff was by his side instantly, running a warm, comforting hand up and down his boy's trapped arm. "Hey Stiles, hey son, how're you feeling?"

Stiles flinched, his eyes suddenly wide and panicked, and he tried to back away from the man, his heels trying to dig into the mattress, but the restraints held him still.

"Don't you fucking touch me! Let me go! What did you do to him? I'm going to fucking kill you!"

"Son, it's me, it's dad."

Stiles closed his eyes, sobbing, and his father soon joined him, both men in agony for different reasons.

"My wolf... where's my wolf?"

 

~~~~~~

 

They eventually reached the car and Derek gently pushed Stiles against it, his muscled thigh pressing between Stiles' legs to the boy's obvious delight and enthusiastic approval, which he let be known through several dirty moans and hard grinds against said muscled thigh.

"I'm serious, dude, keep it up and I'm not sure I can make it back to your place before humiliating myself."

Derek grinned and cupped Stiles' jaw with both hands, leaning in for a gentle, slow kiss before pulling away and gazing lovingly at Stiles.

" _God!_ You'rejust... you're perfect, Stiles. Nothing like I ever imagined, but so, so perfect."

"Yeah, yeah... tell me something I don't know..." Stiles giggled and then rubbed up against Derek in a weak and awkward attempt to climb the man.

 

Derek suddenly froze and pulled back, stiffening, poised as though listening to something far in the distance, and was that a low growl Stiles just heard? Just felt rumbling deep within Derek's chest?

Stiles shook his head and shrugged. 

_Damn those fruity, cocktail drinks!_

"I need to warn you, buddy. I have no control over my mouth most of the time, but I like to think of that as a built-in benefit... and I'm pretty sure you will, too... very soon."

Stiles attached his lips to Derek's neck and his hand pressed firmly to the outline of Derek's fine cock, rubbing up and down, assessing its wonderfulness.

Oh, how Stiles was going to worship that thing once he freed it from its tight denim confines!

He was going to commit to memory the way it smelled, the way it tasted dripping with arousal, the weight of it twitching and pulsing in his hand, the feel of it on his wet tongue, and the smooth glide and rough thrust of it into him, he was going to bow before it and pray to it, and wash and kiss it, lick and touch it, tug and suck it and, _you know_ , all those worshippy things.

Derek was now his religion and his cock the string of prayer beads he would forever hold in his hand, fingering and touching constantly as a reminder of who he needed to devote his life to, who he needed to kneel before and worship.

 

Derek had become serious, far too serious in Stiles' opinion. Stiles wanted his playful lover-to-be back, the sooner the better, but Derek's mood had instantly changed and he backed away from Stiles, holding him at arm's length, despite Stiles' petulant whimpering.

"Stiles, this isn't going to make any sense, but I need you to leave. Right now."

Stiles chuckled and moved back into Derek, his mouth and tongue working their greedy way from Derek's clavicle to his jaw.

"Ain't happening. You're mine, big guy... you even said so yourself. Or have you already forgotten your cheesy lines about finding me after searching for so long, and how you're going to spend every waking minute for the rest of your life worshipping me?"

Derek gripped Stiles' arms and pushed him forcefully away. "I'm serious, Stiles, you need to leave right now, _please_ , I'll... I'll call you."

Stiles huffed.

"I'm serious, too, dude. You totally sold me on the worshipping part and how my scent is driving you mad. And, nice try, by the way, but you don't even have my phone number yet, I don't give that kind of information out until hands have actually met cock."

Stiles went in for a deep kiss, already planning where he'd start when mapping out Derek's skin with his tongue, leaving trails of kisses and bites of promise on every piece of available flesh.

Derek turned his head, dodging the kiss and pushing Stiles firmly away.

"Stiles, you need to go, _right now_... I swear I'll find you."

 

Stiles pulled back, finally listening to Derek's words. " _Really?_ Are you being serious right now? Wow. Shitty way to blow me off, asshole, You could've at least waited until after we had awesome sex..."

" _Jesus!_ No _,_ it's not like that. I meant what I said, Stiles. I'm not going anywhere, but you need to leave, right now, I'll explain later."

" _Later..._  yeah right...  _sure_ you will... _later_. Okay, dude, it's been real, could've been a lot realer..." Stiles stepped back, distancing himself slightly, trying to shrug off the rejection. "And, just so you know, I would've been the best thing you ever had, and I would've showed you stars you never could see... it wouldn't have been that easy to forget about me."

Stiles shook his head and walked off, angrily stewing as he made his way through the crowded parking lot, fighting the strange sensation that he needed to stop and go back, that he was going in the wrong direction.

His body wanted to move, but towards Derek, not away from him.

Halfway to his jeep, Stiles caved to the urge and turned around, ready to give Derek a piece of his mind, maybe even lecture him a little on hook-up and ghosting etiquette.

He heard Derek shout and saw something in his left peripheral rushing towards him, and that was the last thing Stiles remembered.

 

~~~~~~

 

The sheriff rubbed his eyes in another futile attempt to stop the tears that kept coming, cruelly stinging before falling to his cheeks.

He was sitting in the corridor just outside Stiles' hospital room on an uncomfortable, red plastic chair. He looked around, briefly wondering if the hospital chose primary colors to decorate the waiting areas in an attempt to make the people here cheer up and feel better.

It wasn't working.

Was actually making him sick.

He wanted more than anything to be in the room with his son, but it was easier on everyone for him to stay in the hallway, his presence seemed to agitate Stiles even further, with the boy hurling vicious accusations and deadly threats at John as though he were a menacing stranger, his tormentor.

The doctors had tried sedating Stiles, to help calm him and allow him some much-needed rest, but whatever unknown drug was already coursing through his veins quickly negated the sedatives and made the boy even more volatile, excitable, and inconsolable.

 

The doctors had done everything they could for Stiles and had begun consulting medical professionals and scientists from around the world.

Stiles' condition was deteriorating rapidly, his hysteria was growing even worse and taking an alarming toll on his body, his skin nearly translucently pale and his eyes sunken and dark from lack of sleep.

All that could be heard from behind the closed door was Stiles' constant shrieking and sobbing and crying out.

Hospital staff walked by, performing their routine duties, smiling tersely and avoiding direct eye contact with John, while visitors tried to hide their shock and horror at the terrifying sounds emanating from Stiles' room as they passed through on their way to visit their loved ones.

The sheriff dropped his heavy head into his shaking hands and let the tears fall freely while his boy continued screaming and screaming.

Screaming out for his wolf.

 

~~~~~~

 

Somebody was dragging Stiles by the throat and it really sucked because there wasn't anything he could do about it with his hands tied behind his back.

His head was throbbing and he could feel wetness on one side of his face, which he assumed was blood, but wasn't exactly sure. He had tried recalling what had happened, but could only remember making out with Derek one minute and then coming to the next, tied up in the back of an SUV.

Stiles whimpered at the thought of Derek, needing to know if he was okay.

The vehicle had eventually come to an abrupt stop and the back door had opened, and then a man punched Stiles in the face several times before forcefully hauling him out.

Stiles sputtered and fought for air, could feel his left eye swelling shut and the guy was really crushing his windpipe as he pulled him along.

Stiles' feet scrambled to maintain their contact with the slippery gravel on the ground as they approached a heavy, metal door which suddenly opened, and the man dragged Stiles inside.

 

"We got us a stubborn one here, Davis, hasn't shifted yet."

"And the other one you caught?" The man demanded, looking Stiles up and down dubiously.

"Oh, he's definitely one, couldn't stop the shift as soon as we put our hands on this little guy. He's big and fit, too, the Argents are going to pay good money for him. Matt's got him chained up and sedated in the van, should be here any minute."

Stiles tried to follow the conversation but missed most of it due to his head pounding and the room spinning, what did they mean about shifting, were they talking about Derek, was he the other one?

Stiles' body surged with fear and the need to be closer to Derek just by thinking about him.

"Good work, Harris, go ahead and put him next to the big cage. It might inspire him to shift sooner if he can smell his friend's suffering, he won't hold out for long." The man who Stiles decided might possibly be the biggest asshole in the world motioned to a row of cages that lined the far side of the room.

Correction, a row of kennels.

Fucking dog kennels.

 

The man cut the zip-tie holding Stiles' wrists together and shoved him inside. Stiles turned and used his feet to push as far back into the kennel as quickly as possible, his heart was pounding and he was having trouble taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

He rubbed his aching wrists and concentrated on breathing. He needed to calm down in order to think this through, to understand what was happening. He could do this, analyzing things was one of his strengths, he could do this if he could tamp down his fear and get the throbbing in his head to stop.

He took several deep breaths and looked around.

The two men were talking in hushed tones, and Stiles gave up trying to hear what they were saying and took in more of the room, noting every minute detail.

His father would be proud.

 

There were guns, lots of guns, hanging on display on the far wall, some Stiles didn't even recognize, they all looked modified in some way. Along the other wall were stacks and stacks of ice chests, all shapes and sizes, and two big restaurant-sized coolers, side by side.

In the middle of the room sat a large stainless steel table under an array of medical lights and next to it was a cabinet on wheels, with lots of drawers.

Stiles heard something to his left and noticed for the first time that he wasn't the only one in a fucking dog kennel. There were two others at the end of the row, a guy and a girl about his age, each in their own cage, each huddled up into a ball, silently darting their eyes from Stiles to the men, not making a sound.

Stiles studied the kennels, noticing dark stains of what appeared to be new and old blood covering the concrete floor underneath them.

His gaze instantly snapped back to the table in the middle of the room and his eyes dropped to the floor where an industrial hose lay, slowly dripping, the remains of water and blood flowing down the gentle slope of the floor to a grated drain.

Stiles swallowed down the painfully dry lump that was forming in his throat and his heart started beating even faster.

 _Fuck_.

 

The radio crackled and soon a man was speaking through it, announcing his arrival. Harris abruptly left and returned soon after with another man, whom Stiles assumed was Matt.

They entered, struggling to drag Derek's large, limp form behind them. Stiles frantically crawled on his hands and knees to the front of the cage, his fingers grasping around the metal rungs, knuckles going white with the grip.

"I zapped him again when I pulled in, but it's best to get him in the cage, I'm not sure how long he'll be out. He's strong as fuck, Jeff, I had to double up the amps just to get a reaction out of him."

Davis, the man who Stiles now definitely hated with all his heart, nodded and pointed to the cage next to Stiles, and the men dragged Derek over and clumsily shoved his lifeless body in.

 

"What the fuck did you do to him?" Stiles screamed out, shaking and pawing at the cage, wanting to get out and closer to Derek, to help him.

The three men looked over at Stiles.

" _Oh, yeah,_ this scrawny one will be shifting soon, look at how worked up he already is!" Matt exclaimed.

"And we haven't even started!" Harris added, amused.

"They're teaching the younger ones how to control and conceal themselves much better these days, but having one in pain nearby should speed things along and he'll shift soon... if he is one. The Argents will be pleased and very generous if we bring in two. Great work, gentlemen!" Davis motioned for them to follow him to the far side of the room, where they returned to their own conversation, dismissing Stiles all together.

Stiles whimpered and his hands did their best to reach through the cages, desperately trying to touch Derek to confirm he was really there.

 

Days went by and only Matt and Harris came to check on them, at what seemed like random times, sometimes not even at all.

Stiles quickly lost track of time and space, there were no windows to keep track of night and day, so he had no idea how much time had passed since he and Derek had been in the parking lot, or even how much time had passed since he had been thrown into the kennel.

Stiles tried to engage the other two, but they remained silent, balled up in their own private worlds of misery, as if they knew something horrific was coming that Stiles didn't.

Stiles calmed himself by whispering to Derek, begging him to wake up, asking him what he should do, sometimes dozing off mid-sentence, his head resting against the metal bars, his fingers jammed through them, trying to touch.

Occasionally, a few leftover bites of a burger or pizza crust was thrown through the bars, but that was it, nothing really substantial, giving Stiles the uneasy feeling that it didn't really matter to these men whether they lived or died.

The men frequently hosed down the kennels, complaining about the nasty stench while washing away their waste, but also laughing and aiming the strong spray directly at them, bruising and soaking them completely and leaving them sitting and shivering in cold water.

Stiles sucked on his wet shirt every time after the kennels were washed, soothing his dry throat and temporarily abating his incessant hunger.

 

Once in awhile, the men would come and poke through the cages at the other two with what looked like cattle prods, and the guy and girl would moan and shriek in agonizing pain while Stiles covered his ears and nose in a desperate attempt to block the inhuman sounds and cover the nauseating smell of burning flesh.

The men kept shouting at their tortured captives to shift, goddammit, that things would be easier for them if they just gave in and shifted.

For now, they left Stiles alone.

But not Derek, whom they were still very nervous around, despite keeping him in a state of unconsciousness. They would stab him with hot, sharp pokers that would tear into his lifeless body, burning his flesh and making him bleed, and other times, they would shock him before cautiously opening the door and quickly injecting something into his veins.

Stiles would scream and yell and claw at the kennel's bars every time they came close to Derek, feeling an overwhelming urge to protect him.

The men would just laugh, and sometimes kick his cage before walking away, letting the heavy, metal door to the room slam shut behind them.

 

~~~~~~

 

John sat outside Stiles' hospital room, hopeful for the first time in days.

Two specialists had approached him the evening before and proposed a controversial treatment that had not yet been approved by the FDA, but had helped patients in other countries who were suffering from severe hallucinations and trauma-induced delusions brought on by drug use.

The procedure involved a dangerous drug cocktail inserted directly into Stiles' IV tube, the fastest way to get the medicine into his system. If it worked, the mysterious drug that was controlling Stiles' body and mind would be diluted and eventually destroyed, leaving Stiles calm and coherent, and finally able to rest and heal.

The sheriff had agreed, these men had traveled a very long distance and were considered the best in their field, they knew better than John about these things and if they felt this was Stiles' best chance at recovery, then he had to let them proceed.

He had to try everything.

He owed it to Stiles.

 

So, John was now sitting outside Stiles' hospital room, hopeful for the first time in days.

The screaming and crying had stopped and the silence was deafening. He looked at his watch, it had been five hours and five minutes since the hall had fallen silent.

He told himself over and over again that the silence had to be a good sign.

John could only hope, could only imagine his son lying peacefully on the bed, resting comfortably with that trademark grin on his face, the blanket pulled and tucked tightly under his chin to keep him warm, the tubes and wires and restraints finally removed.

A desperate, crazed cry suddenly pierced the quiet and filled the air, followed by screaming and shouting even louder than before.

The doctors quickly exited Stiles' room a few minutes later and glanced at the sheriff, shaking their heads sadly.

John grimaced and his shoulders slumped forward, his head falling heavily into his trembling hands.

It hadn't worked.

 

~~~~~~

 

At some point, Matt and Harris returned, but this time Davis also accompanied them, his first appearance since the day Stiles had arrived.

His mere presence set the other two captives off and they fidgeted and whined, clearly upset and agitated, trembling as they tried to contain their fear. Then Jeff had moved to the table in the middle of the room and they threw themselves as far against the back of their kennels as possible, plastering their bodies against the wire, fingers clutching through it, whimpering and sobbing.

Stiles anxiously looked back and forth between them and Jeff, who was humming as he calmly pulled utensils from the cabinet, inspected them, and set them aside on a tray.

"Let's do the girl today..." He said casually, as if picking out clothes to wear.

The girl screamed and began trying to claw her way out of the back of her cage, blood running from the torn skin on her fingers.

Matt and Harris dragged her, shrieking and fighting, to the table where they strapped her down. Davis stood, watching with a terse, impatient smile on his face.

Stiles started shaking, panicking, a whine rising from deep within his throat, he knew something very bad was about to happen.

And he was right.

 

Davis pushed up the girl's floral-patterned sweater and looked over the items he had lined up on the tray, ignoring her struggling, screaming, and sobs.

Stiles looked over at the boy in the kennel. He was curled up in a tight ball, not watching, hugging his entire head as his whole body shook, Stiles could see the shaking, even from a distance.

Stiles wanted to look away and close his eyes, but he had to watch.

He had to know.

"Are you sure you just don't want to shift, and save us all this time and effort? You've been very good and have kept from shifting for so long. You've been quite impressive, actually. Your people would be proud. It's almost a shame to see you go." Davis spoke calmly to the girl, who stopped struggling for a moment, a hint of hope crossing her tear-streaked face and lighting her wet eyes.

"I... _I swear to God_ , I... I don't know what you're talking about, but I'll do anything you want, just... _please_... please let me go. I won't tell anyone!"

"Oh, _honey_ , that would be so nice, wouldn't it? But that's not how things work here." Davis lifted a scalpel from the tray and pierced into the girl's abdomen without any hesitation.

Stiles cried out and flung himself to the back of his kennel, his heels frantically digging into the cage's floor, wanting to get even further away, not believing what he had just seen, his eyes squeezed tight and his trembling hands trying to block the sounds of the girl's pained screaming.

Nothing helped.

 

"Shift, dammit!" Davis yelled, and Stiles looked up to see him cutting into her again, the blood pulsing from her body and dripping to the floor, her screaming morphing into low moaning before she fell silent and no longer struggled.

Her eyes remained open, frozen, staring at Stiles.

Stiles wanted to look away, to forget what he saw, to forget her eyes, her pretty sweater, and her once perfectly manicured fingernails now broken and stained with blood from her struggling in the kennel. 

But he couldn't.

"Guess she wasn't one after all... _pity_." Davis threw the bloodied scalpel on the tray and chuckled as he looked at the other men. "Oh well, all is not lost, you know the routine, pull everything useful out of her and get it ready for transporting, I'll be back in an hour to dispose of the remains."

And with that, he left.

Stiles watched in horror as the men began methodically hacking at the body.

He finally turned away to face Derek's body, rocking uncontrollably back and forth, his hands covering his ears, but still unable to muffle out the squelching noises of organs being pulled from a chest cavity.

 

Days later, after the floor beneath the surgical table had mostly dried and the stench of blood had dissipated, Davis returned again.

Stiles couldn't control the panic rising in his throat nor the pounding in his heart and he instinctively rushed to huddle against the back of the kennel, his arms wrapped around his legs, pulling them closer. He looked over at Derek's lifeless form and imagined being in there, with him, the thought giving him some focus and comfort.

No words were spoken, Harris and Matt moved directly to the other boy's kennel, unlocking it and pulling him out. The boy didn't struggle, didn't make the slightest noise as he let them pull his limp body from the kennel and hog-carry him to the table where he was strapped down without a fight.

He had given up.

He had no hope.

He had just simply given up.

Stiles couldn't imagine what horrors the boy had been through to lose the will to fight, or to live. Stiles whimpered and curled into himself, muffling a desperate whine with his shirt.

The boy turned his head to look at Stiles, his eyes already seemingly dead, and Stiles buried his face in his knees and covered his ears.

He couldn't watch, couldn't have the boy watching him.

Stiles began rocking his body back and forth, humming louder and louder to lessen the sounds.

 

~~~~~~

 

Claudia Stilinski had died in this same hospital.

She had been feeling under the weather, was diagnosed, and was managing pretty well for several months before her health started declining rapidly, and then she was dead.

And that was it.

Their lives had changed that quickly.

That first night after she was gone, John sat at the kitchen table with a full bottle of whiskey in front of him. He had just thrown back his first shot when he noticed movement in the doorway leading to the living room.

It was Stiles, his sweet boy, out of bed and peering wide-eyed around the corner at his father, looking timid despite wearing his fierce, Batman-themed footed pajamas.

In his small fist was a crumpled up piece of stationery paper.

Claudia's stationery.

 

John smiled sadly and patted his thigh, motioning for the boy to climb up on his lap, the boy was quick to respond, all fidgety and smiles.

"It's okay, Daddy, don't be sad, we're going to be okay. Momma says she can't talk to us anymore and that makes me really sad, but she says _we_ can talk to her whenever we want, even past my bedtime, and she'll listen, isn't that neat, Dad? And Momma says she's going to watch over us from heaven and make sure we're being good boys."

Stiles waved the paper in his tiny hands.

"Momma says we gotta look out for each other now, okay, Dad? Okay? She says we gotta."

John nodded, tears flooding his eyes.

"I'm gonna look after you and make sure nothing bad happens to you, okay Dad? Mom said so. And you're gonna make sure nothing bad happens to me, okay?"

The father drew his son into a tight hug, telling him that he loved him and his mother very much, as one hand screwed the lid firmly back on the bottle and pushed it away.

 

The sheriff startled, slightly dazed, lost somewhere between a memory and a dream, and shifted from his uncomfortable position on the yellow plastic chair.

He let out a tired sigh, rubbing the wetness from his eyes and smiling weakly at the nurse and orderly who were about to enter Stiles' room.

Stiles' frenzied screaming became much louder as the door opened.

"Where is he?" What did you do to him? Where is my wolf?"

 

~~~~~~

 

Something had happened.

Something was wrong.

Stiles didn't know how much time had passed, but no one had been by for several days, he was sure of it.

His stomach was seizing up and cramping, missing even the few scraps of food thrown his way. And he was thirsty, so fucking thirsty, his throat painfully dry and aching, the little water his shirt absorbed after shoving it through the kennel bars and into the puddles around his cage was barely enough.

Stiles had also started hallucinating, which he took as a sign that his body was beginning to shut down.

Derek's injuries, the ones Stiles himself had seen inflicted as Stiles screamed and clawed at his cage, had disappeared over the course of many days. Stiles would rest his head against the cold wire, his eyes searching Derek's body for the cuts and bruises he knew had been there, wondering why his imagination had erased the wounds, but not the rips and dried blood on Derek's clothing.

Sometimes Stiles would sit, huddled in the corner of the cage, his fingers webbed into his own hair, clutching it, pulling it, sobbing, begging Derek to wake up.

Other times he would drift, imagining holding Derek, their bodies bare and hot, sweat-wet and moving as one, lips and teeth colliding, sharing each other, showing each other what they wanted and how they wanted it, biting, rubbing, and thrusting, and licking, touching, and cuddling as they took, took, took, and gave, gave, gave, and he would slip painfully into sleep, a soft, lopsided grin playing on his lips.

 

Stiles hated being alone, had hated it as a child and still hated it now.

Maybe that's why he talked so much.

When he was lucid and waiting for the dreaded sound of the heavy, metal door finally opening, Stiles pretended that Derek was awake and he filled his time talking to him and playing with the few strands of Derek's hair that his fingers could reach through the bars.

He told Derek all about his dad and how he tried to get him to eat healthier foods, losing his mom, and school. He told him about lacrosse, video games he loved, and listed his top 100 favorite movies of all time, complete with a synopsis and character analysis for each, just in case Derek was unfamiliar with them.

Stiles was weakening further and started sleeping even more, his fingers still crammed through the kennel, ghosting over Derek's hair.

The contact soothed and comforted him.

As the days drew on with still no signs of anyone coming, Stiles started weakly singing his favorite songs and describing what he would've liked to have done to Derek that first night, in alarmingly scandalous detail, if they had actually made it to Derek's loft.

When he wasn't sleeping or talking or singing, he was sobbing and babbling over what he had seen, how he was worried about his dad, and what he was afraid was going to happen to them.

And still, no one came.

 

~~~~~~

 

"Hey, Dad, are you busy?" Stiles stood in the doorway of his father's bedroom, looking nervous, his fists balled and jammed tightly into the front pockets of his pants.

"Not at all, come on in." John quickly shut the case folder he'd been reviewing and set it on his nightstand.

Stiles hesitated a moment and the sheriff honestly thought by the anxious look on his face that Stiles was about to turn around and flee, but then the boy took a deep breath and entered the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, still weirdly and uncharacteristically quiet.

The sheriff frowned. "What is it, Stiles? How's school, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, Dad, school's fine. It's just... I just wanted to talk to you... I... _uh_... I think I've come to a big realization... about myself... and... _well_... I don't know... it's important to me that you know... that... that I'm pretty sure I like girls... and guys..." Stiles' head slumped forward and his fingers carded through his hair as he let out a huge huff of air, relieved that his secret was finally out.

The sheriff studied his boy, who seemed to have sprouted overnight, gone was the sad, but hopeful, little boy who had just lost his mom, now replaced with a coltish, young man in his mid-teens already facing life's rich demands.

"Okay."

Stiles' eyes snapped up, brows furrowed and lowered slightly in suspicion, searching his father's face for the truth.

" _Okay?_ That's all you got? _Okay?_ I just told you that... I don't know... that I like both innies and outies... and all you say is _okay?_ "

 

John sighed, smiling, happy to have his talkative Stiles back.

"Listen, son, if I've learned anything, it's that things can change in an instant and you need to follow what makes you happy, right now. Don't put it off because a better time may never come. Don't lose the opportunity, Stiles, you don't get to live your life again, so enjoy it now.  _And_... if you think you might be just as attracted to guys as you are to girls, then so be it and more power to you, you've just doubled your chances of finding someone."

Stiles barked out a laugh.

"Or doubled my rejections..."

"Come here." His dad motioned for him to slide into the space next to him, which Stiles readily did, laying his head on his dad's chest while his dad rubbed his back.

"Thanks... you know... for understanding."

"Nothing for me to understand, son. I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me. Your mom would've been so proud of the man you've become."

Stiles nodded, smiling. " _Really?_ You really think so?"

"Yeah... yeah... I really do..."

 

The sheriff stared at the poster reminding everyone to get a flu shot, then blinked rapidly, smiling softly at the memory that temporarily blocked out the cries and shrieks coming from his son's room.

 

~~~~~~

 

" _Stiles_..."

His name, spoken so softly and with such warm affection, gently coaxed the boy from his sleep and he cautiously opened one dry, crusted eye, fearing that the familiar voice was just a dream or even worse, another hallucination.

Derek was no longer lying unresponsive in his cage, he was now crouching in the middle of it, staring back at him. 

Stiles shot up and hurled himself against the bars, willing his body to slide through them.

"Oh my god, Derek, you're okay! I didn't think you'd ever wake up and... we have to get out of here! These guys... _they're_... they're crazy, they're going to kill us! They've killed people, Derek, I saw it, and they're going to come back and kill us and cut us up!"

"Stiles... Stiles! _Shhh_... calm down. I need you to calm down, okay?"

Stiles nodded rapidly and took several deep gulps of air, he wanted to calm down, for Derek. Derek was awake now and he was here with him, and Stiles felt nothing but relief and the overwhelming urge to touch. He crammed his thin fingers through the cage and Derek stared down, hesitating only a brief moment before caressing them.

Warmth and security surged through Stiles' veins and he relaxed further, even the pain of hunger diminished a little and he felt a bit stronger, content that he was no longer alone.

Derek was with him now.

 

Stiles grasped Derek's fingers, wanting to curl around and hold them tightly, but Derek hissed and pulled back when his skin came in contact with the metal and the nauseating stench of burnt flesh wafted up between them.

Stiles looked down, eyeing the freshly blistered burn marks on Derek's skin, confused.

"Derek... _what..._ what's going on?"

So, Derek explained.

Everything.

Explained about werewolves and hunters, the supernatural and soulmates, rapid healing and heightened senses, pulling pain and wolfsbane, his family and his pack, his long search for Stiles and finally, finally finding him.

And Derek was so proud of Stiles and how well he took in everything Derek was telling him, how open he was, how he listened and accepted and asked important questions, and how he didn't freak out with the overload of new information or even when Derek shifted for him.

He was proud of how smart Stiles was and how quickly he connected being soulmates to the urgent feelings and strange sensations he'd been experiencing since they met.

 

"So, is this considered our first date? Because if it is, I want a do-over.  _Okay, Derek?_ I want a fucking do-over." Stiles' hand ran distractedly though his hair as tears filled his eyes.

"Stiles, this is serious, you need to listen to me... _I_... despite what I am... I can't get us out of here. These hunters have either moved on unexpectedly and we're going to die here alone, or they're coming back... _and I_... I can't fight them, Stiles... this cage is made to keep me in."

Stiles nodded repeatedly, his voice shaky. "I know, I know, I just talk a lot when I'm nervous, or scared, or... _you know._.. about to die..."

 _"I'm... sorry."_ Derek's voice was unreadable, but those two small words were filled with so much — honesty and love, sorrow and remorse, anger and frustration.

Stiles looked over at him and saw that Derek was barely in control, his shoulders were shaking and his fingers clutched desperately into his own skin.

"This isn't your fault, Derek, none of this is your fault. I'm not blaming you for this. I'm just sorry that searching for me led you here... to a trap." Stiles motioned around at their hopeless situation.

 

Derek moved his body even closer towards Stiles, as close as possible without touching his metal confine. "Stiles, listen to me... you are the world to me, and if I die today, I'm happy I was able to finally find you... and feel what it was like."

Stiles jabbed his fingers into Derek's cage and they touched softly, the calm coursing through them.

"I know, I know... it's okay, Derek, I'm okay with this, I understand. Honestly, I feel like I've already lived an entire lifetime with the love I feel from you... and I'm glad you found me, too. I'm just sorry we didn't have more time to be together." Stiles muttered, trying to stay alert, but the words were blurring quickly around the edges.

He lay down, careful not to let their fingers separate as he curled into a ball. His hunger was returning and hurting so bad that even Derek couldn't draw all of it away. All Stiles wanted was to touch Derek and sleep, so the pain would disappear completely.

Derek remained awake, keeping watch, his fingers never breaking their contact with Stiles.

 

~~~~~~

 

The sheriff sat back against the hard, plastic chair, a blue one this time, his wallet in hand. He had just come from the hospital's accounting office, where he had signed even more paperwork for his insurance company.

A slip of paper slid slightly into view as he tucked away his insurance card. John pulled it out, smiling softly at the immediately recognizable, sloppy yet neat, handwriting.

It was a note from Stiles, hastily written and torn from a spiral notebook, some little pieces still desperately hanging on, flattened and worn from years of being mashed in an underused slot in his wallet, the ink faded and smudged.

  _Hey Dad, phone's dead so I'm stuck writing this the old fashioned way. Idk how you guys_  
_survived b4 technology. My hand is already cramping up._  
_Sorry I missed you this morning. You must've had a busy night. Anyway, just wanted to_  
_make sure our plans were still on for tonight. I'm picking up the cake after school._  
_I've decided to start a new tradition on this special day, just in case we get so_  
_busy we forget to say it sometimes or in the future when we may be far from each other._

 _So, I love you Dad, very much, you're the best!_  
_And Happy Birthday, Mom!_  
_(This is where I would put celebration and happy face emojis)_  
_Love, Stiles_

The Sheriff laughed out a sob as he folded the paper, carefully using the same creases that were already there, before tucking it safely away.

 

He went through his wallet, smiling at the fond memories it held.

There were faded and worn pictures — one of Claudia on a ski trip and another of them cutting their wedding cake, John's hand gently resting over hers as she sliced, and there were two of Stiles, one as a newborn and the other when he was in Little League, holding a baseball bat nearly twice his size.

There was a lucky penny he'd found the day Claudia told him she was pregnant.

There were birthday coupons Claudia and Stiles had made, offering a free massage and back rub, a free afternoon nap, a get-out-of-weekend-chores card, and a free dinner of his choice. The sheriff sighed sadly, wishing he had redeemed them.

There was a rainbow sticker, from when Stiles felt the need to hand them out to everybody he met, whether at school or on the street. John was pretty sure everyone in Beacon Hills had a rainbow sticker because of Stiles.

The sheriff rested his head against the wall, listening for a moment to Stiles' hysterical crying and shouting before he let out a deep, hopeless sigh and folded up his wallet, shoving it into his back pocket.

He couldn't imagine living without his boy.

 

~~~~~~

 

The door to the room was thrown open and the three men entered.

Stiles whimpered and broke contact with Derek while scrambling and huddling against the back of the kennel, his body already rocking, wanting to immediately disappear.

An enraged growl came from Derek's cage, and Stiles looked up to see Derek, partially shifted, all but rushing towards their tormentors.

"Well, well, lookie here! We got us a big, bad wolf! Now we're going to finally see if your little bitch here is also ready to shift for us."

Derek flung himself against his cage, but was instantly thrown back, his body's natural reaction to the wolfsbane-treated metal, which angered him even more.

The men just laughed as they approached Stiles' kennel, unlocked it, and reached in, roughly pulling Stiles out. Stiles fought back, kicking and screaming, a wild animal backed against a wall, using his last ounce of strength fighting for his life.

The men kept laughing despite Stiles getting some good kicks in, which resulted in a few angry punches to his face that momentarily stunned and silenced him and enraged Derek even further, his body shaking the cage and rocking it on its foundation from the brutal force of his frustrated fury.

_"DON'T TOUCH HIM!"_

"Fuck you, wolf!"

 

Cursing under his breath, Harris grabbed the electric prod from his belt and poked and zapped it into Derek's cage, trying to make contact with the crazed wolf while helping Matt hold a kicking and twisting Stiles as well.

The wolf was fast, but limited in movement, and the prod finally made contact, causing him to cry out in pain and slump over, momentarily subdued.

Davis stood by the table, waiting impatiently, as the two men threw Stiles on it and fought to subdue him so they could strap him down. Stiles struggled even more, prompting Davis to roll his eyes, search a drawer, and plunge a syringe into Stiles' neck. Stiles screamed out, but immediately started losing the ability to move his muscles.

He tried to fight, but was unable, he knew what was coming and could do nothing about it.

" _Stiles!_ Look at me! _Stiles!_ " Derek's rough, weak voice called out.

Stiles used everything he had to turn his head to face Derek, his wolf.

"You think of somewhere else, okay Stiles, do you hear me? Go to someplace happy, someplace that makes you feel good, okay? I love you, Stiles."

Stiles could no longer move, but he hoped the tears running from his eyes were enough for Derek to know that Stiles loved him, too.

 

"So very, very touching, I think I just might need a tissue. Shall we begin? Let's hope you shift, or I'll make sure you two are never together again..." Davis grabbed a scalpel.

 _I hate you, I hate you, I hate you_ ran through Stiles' mind.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are, little wolf..." Davis whispered, and all Stiles could do was wait.

The first cut had Stiles screaming, but he couldn't move, couldn't make a noise, had to just be there, experiencing everything, the pain, the sounds, and the sensations.

" _Stiles!_ Go far away from this!" He heard Derek's voice shouting far in the distance, mixed with snarls and growling plus the continual sounds of Derek being repelled by the bars of his cage as he struggled to escape.

Stiles started floating and he began doing what Derek had told him to, his memory conjuring up better places, and better times.

The second cut had him seeing white and the room started spinning, and he wanted to shut his eyes but couldn't do anything but lie there, eventually hearing Davis' disappointed voice, instructing the others to pull his organs.

Stiles was gone, just like Derek had told him, was fully hallucinating now, imagining ballgames and eating hotdogs with his dad, baking cookies and dancing in the kitchen with his mom, and a beautiful black wolf viciously tearing out the throats of the evil men who stood over him.

And then Stiles' world went dark.

 

~~~~~~

 

John entered the room and the nurse and orderly quickly exited, no polite smiles, their eyes averted so as not to meet the sheriff's.

It was okay.

He knew.

He couldn't blame them, actually, couldn't fault them, he would probably do the same thing.

The doctors had told him outside in the hallway, had given him the news, had squeezed his shoulder and offered their sympathy before heading on to other patients who needed them.

Patients who had a chance.

 

Stiles was going to die.

There was nothing else they could do for him, he wasn't able to sleep and his visions and wildness were taking over completely, he was inconsolable and would soon break his own body, his own heart.

Stiles was going to die, right before his eyes.

And there was nothing he could do to help his boy.

John was going to lose his son the same way he had lost Stiles' mother, both not recognizing him in the end, robbing him of the chance to tell them how much they meant to him, how much he loved him, robbing him of his chance to say goodbye.

John was numb as he looked down at his son, who was writhing against the restraints, blood seeping from the cuts the straps were causing, looking wildly at him and shouting curses, threatening him, demanding to be released, demanding his wolf.

John's hand rested on his gun holster.

If he lost Stiles, that would be it, he would have nothing left, and he would follow his son into the unknown.

 

~~~~~~

 

Derek ran with Stiles cradled in his arms, snug against his chest.

He was struggling to keep his own hurried pace, the drugs and his injuries were slowing him down, strips of burnt flesh hung from one arm, sending slicing pain through his system as they flapped with his every move, exposing tendons and bone.

He needed to stop and rest, to allow his body to build up enough energy to heal, but first he had to make sure that Stiles was safe, and that he was going to be okay.

He couldn't bite him, couldn't change him without his consent, it wouldn't be right and he knew Stiles was in no condition to answer, to even understand fully what the bite would mean.

Derek stumbled several times, but protected Stiles by holding him tight, his hands continually pulling pain from the boy as he mustered the strength to stand and keep going, to get Stiles where he needed to go.

Stiles' breathing and heartbeat were fairly strong, he just needed help, some human help, to stop the bleeding.

So Derek kept running.

 

The entire way there, Derek kept talking, hoping the boy could hear him, could find the strength to hold on just a little while longer, for him.

He told Stiles that he was the best mate ever, that he had saved them because he was so strong and stubborn and had kicked the kennel keys off Matt's belt during their struggle to get him out of his cage, allowing Derek to wrench his arm between the burning bars and retrieve them while they were busy strapping Stiles down.

He told Stiles everything they would do when he was better, because Stiles was going to get better, and how Derek planned to fill his life with only things that made him happy.

How they would watch crappy movies.

How they would go to concerts and dance the night away.

How Derek would cook for him, and if he didn't know how to cook the foods Stiles liked, how he would learn.

How they would get ice cream and feed the ducks at the park.

How they would paint the rooms in their house, and if they didn't like the color, they would paint them again.

How they would rescue a pup, or two, or three.

How the pack was going to love him, probably more than they loved Derek.

How he would rub Stiles' feet and back while he studied and read books and wrote papers.

How they would carve their love in the mountainside, float in the warmest oceans, sweat in the silence of mystic deserts, and soak their hearts in the rain.

How Derek had waited his whole life for him, and how he wanted to hold him tightly, to mark him proudly, and make him smile every minute of every day, for the rest of their long lives.

He just needed Stiles to get better first, and could Stiles please do that? For him?

 

"You're my lover for life..." he whispered tenderly into Stiles' ear before gently laying the boy down on a grassy knoll by the emergency room entrance, in a place where the humans would find him quickly.

He waited and watched, hidden from view, his breathing ragged and labored, his body in agony, as people began shouting and rushing in and out of the electric doors, lifting his mate onto a gurney and taking his lifeless body in, where they could help him.

Derek slumped in momentary relief.

Stiles was going to be okay.

Derek was sure of it, could hear his heartbeat, could feel the strength and determination the boy had running through his veins.

His mate was very strong.

His mate was going to be okay.

Derek then fled, to find a place to nurse his own wounds and heal before he obliterated what was left of the hunters in the area.

 

~~~~~~

 

John returned to the hospital after running home for a quick shower and change of clothes. The unusually quiet corridor, void of Stiles' constant shouting and screaming, alerted him that something was amiss.

Dread filled his insides and his pace slowed, suddenly he didn't want to reach his destination, he didn't want to know the truth.

Certainly they would have called if... if something had happened... if Stiles had...

His trembling hand rested on the doorknob and he took a deep breath before quietly opening the door, hoping to find Stiles sleeping peacefully, but instead he found a man, a stranger, looming over the hospital bed.

The sheriff's hands moved fast, on instinct, instantly drawing his weapon and holding it with both hands, sure and steady and perfectly aimed at the back of the stranger, directly between his shoulder blades.

"I'm only giving you one chance to slowly back away from my son, motherfucker. Don't test me. I will not hesitate putting a bullet in you faster than you can—"

 

_"Dad!"_

John's usually steady hands betrayed him and his grip faltered for a split second, thrown off not by his son's voice, but by his son using the one word he thought he would never hear from him again.

_"Dad!"_

Again, the word threatened to bring John to his knees.

His father held the gun steady, still aimed at the stranger's back, as he glanced down to see his son peering around the man, smiling his trademark lopsided smile. He looked at Stiles, the familiar light was back in his eyes and his skin looked healthier, was less sallow, less pale, and the circles under his eyes had faded noticeably.

The sheriff was an observant man and didn't miss the fact that the stranger who was standing way too close to his son was touching him, was holding his son's arm in his hand, and he also didn't miss the odd tattoo that resembled black veins running up his arm, either.

His son's arm.

"Get your fucking hands off my boy... right now... Stiles, are you okay, son?"

"Dad! Dad, it's alright... I'm okay, _well_ , I'm not completely okay because, _hello_ , hospital and gaping hole in my side, but I'm okay, I'm back and safe with you, and he is, too." Stiles grinned as his hand searched and found the stranger's, nestling into it comfortably.

 

The sheriff hesitated, it sure sounded like his old Stiles and if he overlooked the bruising and injuries, it sure looked like his old Stiles, but there were still too many questions that needed answering.

His finger twitched against the trigger.

He'd ask the most important one first.

The sheriff's gaze returned to the broad back of the man standing over his child.

"Who the fuck are you?"

The man turned his head slowly, grinning, until his eyes met the sheriff's.

"I'm his wolf."

 


End file.
